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Rac tried to look confident as she walked.
Before, in the gutters and the undercity, she had to make herself small, inconspicuous and unimportant, like the racoons she’d been named after. There, but not important enough to bother with.
Up here, heading to the Barber Shop, the attitude was different. She had to look like she belonged.
“You’re going to need some sort of ID to get past the bouncer,” she said. “He’s this big full-borg guy who doesn’t fuck around.”
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